


Dreaming

by Winterling42



Category: Campaign: Skyjacks
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dream Sex, Hand Jobs, Missing Scene, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterling42/pseuds/Winterling42
Summary: Dref was never quite sure how much of it was a dream.
Relationships: Gable/Dref Wormwood
Kudos: 5





	Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this fic for almost a month! I did not double-check this! please do not judge me.

Dref was never quite sure how much of it was a dream. He’d been working on the Captain, pouring in magic and strictures. Creating _something_ out of _nothing_. It was heady, difficult, exacting work. And if he fell asleep in a comfortable chair, who was to say?

Gable, maybe. _Maybe_ they came into that room, after he’d fallen asleep. _Maybe_ he heard his name, as if from a very long distance, and was not awake enough to answer. Certainly Gable was tall enough to pick him up like a child, to carry him back to the medical bay with a steady step like a hammock, swinging. Dref was almost certain he was awake when they laid him to bed, muttering nonsense to themself.

So it was probably true that they pressed a soft palm to his cheek, falling quiet. That their thumb ran gently below his eye, feeling the gaunt skin against the bone. But when he turned his head, heavy eyelids blinking, they were gone. “You need to shave.” Gable said, too loudly, and by the time he’d lifted his head the door slammed closed.

 _Probably_ that was true. It was all mixed up, though, in his head, because sometime that night Gable was there in the room with one hand on his chest and the other wrapped around his dick. Dref knew he was naked, and more than that laid bare by Gable’s iron-hard eyes, grey as clouds. They leaned over him, putting just enough pressure on his chest that it was difficult to breathe. It hurt, the way that living did. Their other hand moved slowly, exploratorily, cool and firm against the spike of heat and blood in his penis.

The noise he made was not really a word. But Gable tilted their head towards him in the quick, inhuman way that reminded him so much of their birds. Leaned closer (his ribs creaked under the pressure). “What was that?”

“ _Gable_ —”

Their hand tightened around him, large enough to take almost all of him at once. “I want you to tell me, Dref.”

And it was all mixed up, in his head. Asleep or not asleep—truth or pretty lie. He worked so _hard_ to be Dref Wormwood, and not…

“Tell—you—what?”

Gable’s strokes got faster, rough and hard and so, so perfect. Dref arched into the pressure, heels scrabbling at the edges of the hammock. His blood thundered through his body, condensed to a heaving star under Gable’s hands. “I want you to tell me,” Gable said, with a familiar gentleness, “are you redeemable?”

They didn’t stop stroking him off, but there was something ruthless in their eyes. The look they got before leaping off the deck onto the back of a bird. Not afraid, at all, but searching for something. Dref wrapped one hand around Gable’s wrist above his chest, not trying to move them (a futile task, even if he’d _wanted_ to) but to hold himself together. To hold himself down.

“I. Don’t. Know.” Dref groaned, each breath pulling him deeper into his arousal. “I don’t know. Are you?”

And he opened his eyes to catch the look on their face, the same expression they’d had when he’d first asked them to _remember_ —fear and disbelief and exaltation, all at once.

So of course, that was when he woke up. A familiar and horrible crackling sound filled the medical bay, which at least successfully distracted Dref from the continued…state…of his genitals.

Overwhelming embarrassment and horror solved that quickly enough. Dref shot up too quickly, tangling himself in his hammock and nearly dropping him on top of a mostly dog-shaped Travis. He screamed, and then Travis screamed—out of pain or perverse camaraderie it was impossible to say. Either way, a wonder that no one kicked in the door looking to see what was wrong.

Travis, of course, finished his grotesquerie just as Dref finished detangling himself from the hammock. They faced each other on opposite sides of the bed, both wary and uncertain. Finally Travis grinned, an inherently untrustworthy expression. “Don’t get so _excited_ , Dref. I only slept in here because your door was open.”

“W-w-w-why di-did you come in at _all_?” Dref knew his face was red, and he was having trouble picking the right words so early in the goddamn morning.

Travis’s smile didn’t falter. “Comfier in here than on the deck. _And_ I might have had to lose some…interested crew members. Jane’s quicker on the uptake than most of the idiots we hire.”

“Y-you’re one of the idiots we hired.” Dref pointed out. He was wearing most of his clothes, at least, though hopelessly rumpled and undone.

“Nobody _hired_ me per se,” Travis tilted one hand back and forth. “So I won’t admit to anything.” He gave Dref what was clearly a Look of some kind, still _smiling_ , and with typical Travis aplomb spun on one heel towards the door. Which most definitely _was not open_. At the last second he turned and laid a finger on the side of his nose. “Secret’s safe with me.”

There were no words for the acid mixture of shame, fear, and panic in Dref’s stomach as the least trustworthy member of their little conspiracy slipped into the rest of the ship. He sank back against the wall, rubbing at the notch in his nose where his glasses normally sat.

Glasses! Dref nearly tangled himself in the hammock _again_ trying to duck underneath it. They weren’t on the deck, smashed under him or Travis. They weren’t in the cupboard next to the vervain where he normally put them.

Eventually he found them folded neatly on the corner of his writing desk, close to where the hammock was hung. Someone had tied the string in a sparrow’s slip, and it certainly hadn’t been Dref. He spent a minute or two looking down at it, feeling the imperfections in the metal frame. Calming himself down. “Just a dream,” he muttered to the slip knot. “N-no one can control their dreams.”


End file.
